Our Farewell
by Bookwrm389
Summary: After the battle, Spargus gathers to bid farewell to their fallen warriors. Jak 3, alternate ending.


_A.N. Just toying with an alternate path the story could have taken, although this scenario is no less sad than the real one. I got really eerie déjà vu while I was writing. I hope that doesn't mean I already read this idea somewhere and I'm unintentionally plagiarizing somebody. Gulp._

Our Farewell

Later, nobody would say the ceremony was beautiful. It was solemn and filled with sorrow, but at least it was brief. The Wastelanders still had their city to rebuild after the Dark Maker attack that had nearly destroyed it. There was no time to waste mourning the dead.

The rites were the same for all of them. The pyres had been constructed at the edge of the sea, and the monks laid out the bodies of the fallen with all proper respect and deference for warriors who had died honorably in battle, defending their home to their last breaths. Prayers were spoken, the pyres ignited and allowed to burn out, and then the ashes were carefully gathered and taken up a narrow path in the cliffs to be cast into the sea, a private part of the ritual witnessed only by the closest friends and family.

When the monks bore the final body forward, Jak couldn't bear to watch, but he dutifully took his place close by with the grieving Wastelanders at his back. Here only the impassive monks could see his face, and Jak did his absolute best to imitate them and keep his pain hidden, but his hands were locked into trembling fists. Daxter clung to his leg, uncharacteristically quiet as he stroked Jak's ankle in a feeble attempt at comfort.

"He saved us," Daxter whispered, sounding so lost and heartbroken that it battered at Jak's defenses.

"Yeah," Jak murmured. "He didn't have to answer our call, but...I don't think he regretted it. Not for a second."

A strong hand squeezed his shoulder. "Of course he didn't," a gentle voice said. "It was never in his nature to abandon his comrades. Accept his sacrifice and let him be at peace."

Jak nodded, unable to speak around the tight lump in his throat as the monks gathered around the pyre and began their prayers. Seem caught his eye sadly for a moment before she bowed her head and joined in the chanting. Jak wondered if this was difficult for her as well. She didn't seem close to anyone in Spargus, yet she still grieved for each life lost. Maybe that was what made monks different, that they could dedicate their hearts to everyone equally and wholly. Jak had to wonder if that made him selfish for only loving a select few, fierce and devoted though that love might be.

"Tell me...did he have any final words?"

Jak took a deep breath and let it go again, for the first time raising his head to look at the pyre. Sig had always been a spirited person in life, quicker to smile than to frown, but now his face was still and relaxed, completely at peace with his fate. Jak still remembered the utter lack of fear in his eyes, his determination and courage, like he was the one doing death a favor by letting it have him that day.

Turning to Damas, Jak blinked back tears. "He said...he said he wanted me to finish what he couldn't, that I was the only one he could trust. And...he said he was sorry that he failed. He had no idea, _neither_ of us did..."

Damas shut his eyes, a flicker of agony overtaking him for a moment. "He never gave up. Even when I began to lose hope, he would promise me again and again that he would succeed no matter what he had to do. For that, he will always be my greatest and truest friend."

The prayers came to an end, and a hush settled over the mourners. It was time. Seem removed one of the ceremonial torches from its holder and offered it to Damas. He accepted it, but hesitated, watching the flame for a moment. Then he waved for a second torch and held it out to Jak. "Light the pyre with me," he said. "His spirit will recognize the hands that bade it final farewell, and he will know beyond a doubt that he has not failed."

Part of Jak wanted to cynically point out that he wasn't sure he even believed in spirits or the afterlife. But when Damas locked eyes with him resolutely, he found for the first time that he _wanted _to believe it. Jak took the torch, ignoring the murmur of confusion and curiosity behind him. They moved up to the pyre, one on each side, and Jak shut out everything else except for the torch in his hand and the man across from him.

Damas nodded once. Together, they thrust their torches into the wood and stepped back. The flames kindled quickly until Sig's body was completely engulfed. Smoke billowed into the sky and golden sparks danced madly on the wind. The firelight cast his father's face in blazing reds and oranges and gleamed radiantly off the seal of Mar around his neck. And Jak knew from the audible gasp that rippled through the mourners that the twin amulet hanging around his own neck was just as visible and just as dazzling.

At his feet, Daxter gave the burning pyre a shaky salute. "L-Later, big guy," he choked.

"Rest in peace," Jak offered.

"And thank you," Damas breathed.


End file.
